“I wish I would have kissed you Saturday night,” he says. He drops his eyes to my lips where his thumb is still stroking them. “I can’t stop imagining what you taste like.” He presses his thumb firmly against the center of my lips, then very briefly connects his mouth to mine without moving his thumb out of the way. His lips are gone and his thumb is gone and it happens so fast, I don’t even realize he’s gone until the hallway stops spinning and I’m able to stand up straight.
I don’t know how much longer I can take this. I’m reminded of my nervous rant on Saturday night, when I wanted him to just get it over with and kiss me in the kitchen. I had absolutely no idea what I would be in for.
“How?”
It’s just one word, but as soon as I lay my tray down across from Breckin, I know exactly what all that word encompasses. I laugh and decide to spill all the details before Holder shows up at our table. If he shows up at our table. Not only have we not discussed relationship labels, we also haven’t discussed lunchroom seating arrangements.
“He showed up at my house on Friday and after quite a few misunderstandings, we finally came to an understanding that we just misunderstood each other. Then we baked, I read him some smut and he went home. He came back over Saturday night and cooked for me. Then we went to my room and…”
I stop talking when Holder takes a seat beside me.
“Keep going,” Holder says. “I’d love to hear what we did next.”
I roll my eyes and turn back to Breckin. “Then we broke the record for best first kiss in the history of first kisses without even kissing.”
Breckin nods carefully, still looking at me with eyes full of scepticism. Or curiosity. “Impressive.”
“It was an excruciatingly boring weekend,” Holder says to Breckin.
I laugh, but Breckin looks at me like I’m crazy again. “Holder loves boring,” I assure him. “He means that in a nice way.”
Breckin looks back and forth between the two of us, then shakes his head and leans forward, picking up his fork. “Not much confuses me,” he says, pointing his fork at us. “But you two are an exception.”
I nod in complete agreement.
We continue on with lunch and have somewhat normal, decent interaction between the three of us. Holder and Breckin start talking about the book he let me borrow and the fact that Holder is even discussing a romance novel at all is entertaining in itself, but the fact that he’s arguing about the plot with Breckin is sickeningly adorable. Every now and then he places his hand on my leg or rubs my back or kisses the side of my head, and he’s going through these motions like they’re second nature, but to me not a single one of them goes unnoticed.
I’m trying to process the shift from last week to this week and I can’t get past the notion that we might just be too good. Whatever this is and whatever we’re doing seems too good and too right and too perfect and it makes me think of all the books I’ve read and how, when things get too good and too right and too perfect, it’s only because the ugly twist hasn’t yet infiltrated the goodness of it all and I suddenly—
“Sky,” Holder says, snapping his fingers in front of my face. I look at him and he’s eyeing me cautiously. “Where’d you go?”
I shake my head and smile, not knowing what just set off that mini internal panic attack. He slides his hand just below my ear and runs his thumb across my cheekbone. “You have to quit checking out like that. It freaks me out a little bit.”
“Sorry,” I say with a shrug. “I’m easily distracted.” I bring my hand up and pull his hand away from my neck, squeezing his fingers reassuringly. “Really, I’m fine.”
His gaze drops to my hand. He flips it over and slides my sleeve up, then twists my wrist back and forth.
“Where’d you get that?” he says, looking down at my wrist.
I look down to see what he’s referring to and realize I’m still wearing the bracelet I put on this morning. He looks back up at me and I shrug. I’m not really in the mood to explain it. It’s complicated and he’ll ask questions and lunch is almost over.
“Where’d you get it?” he says again, this time a little more demanding. His grip tightens around my wrist and he’s staring at me coldly, expecting an explanation. I pull my wrist away, not liking where this is going.
“You think I got it from a guy?” I ask, puzzled by his reaction. I hadn’t really pegged him for the jealous type, but this doesn’t really seem like jealousy. It seems like crazy.